


Coin Laundry and Comfort

by unintentionallyangsty



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (i should probably just start tagging all my stuff with that tbh), Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Fights, Future Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Older Pines Twins, Panic Attacks, Pines Family, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, questionable decisions, self projection whomst?, this is so on brand im disgusted with myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 21:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15715500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unintentionallyangsty/pseuds/unintentionallyangsty
Summary: After a fight between Dipper and Mabel, Dipper disappears into the woods and doesn't turn back up for hours.Worried, Stan heads out to find the missing kid, and gets a lot more than he bargained for when he does.





	Coin Laundry and Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> basically just another family bonding, hurt/comfort fic between Stan and Dipper, which is becoming something of a trend with me, if i'm honest. (they deserve more fic!)
> 
> warnings for pretty graphic descriptions of panic-attacks and blatant references to/implied self-harm within the text (not to mention a healthy dose of swearing). please tread lightly and take care of yourself!

The entire cluster had truly started, Stan would reflect much later on, with the raised voices he could hear filtering in to where he was lounging in front of the television in the Shack’s living room, rising in pitch until they were too insistent to ignore.

With a grunt, Stan stood from his weary perch and ambled into the kitchen, wincing as Mabel let out a particularly forceful shriek as he entered.

“I don’t know why you’re making a such a big deal out of it!” she cried, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning pointedly toward where Dipper was fuming on the other side of the breakfast table, hardly sparing a glance toward Stan as he appeared. “Just cool it!”

Dipper, for his part, turned a bit red and made a somewhat choked noise. “Cool it?!” he replied, a gracious amount of snark lacing the words. “Seriously? You’re the one who’s bailing in the first place! We’ve been planning this for _weeks_!”

“We can always reschedule, Dipper!” Mabel insisted, her voice softening ever so slightly. “This is _important_.”

“Define ‘important’.” Dipper griped.

“Whoa, whoa.” Stan interrupted, before an increasingly agitated appearing Mabel could open her mouth to reply. “What’s this all about? You two never go at it like this. What is it, teen hormones?” he chuckled slightly at his own joke, though sobered immediately and coughed a little when both twins pegged him with matching expressions of bewilderment.

“Grunkle Stan,” Dipper was the first to reply, his voice cracking (even at 17) with the whine. “Tell Mabel that she can’t back out something we’ve had planned for weeks the day of! That’s ridiculous!”

“Grunkle _Stan_!” Mabel cut in, gesturing wildly so that the sleeves of her sweater flopped over her hands. “Tell Dipper that there are some things more important than his stupid hunting for faeries or whatever! We can just reschedule!”

“Hey!” Dipper snapped, before Stan could reply. “It’s a werewolf, and we both know it. And it’s hardly like we can reschedule a full moon! Besides,” his voice raised slightly over Mabel rolling her eyes and mimicking his words under her breath. “I really doubt that Grenda bringing her, and I quote, ‘hot boyfriend’s hot friend’ to visit from Germany really counts as ‘more important’ than a groundbreaking, scientific discovery, Mabel!”

Mabel gaped slightly. “This is totally important!”

“Yeah, right.” Dipper replied, sulking slightly now, as if he knew that he’d already lost the argument. “Meeting up with a guy you totally don’t have a chance with is ‘important’.”

There was a heavy pause, then, as the words seemed to sink in entirely for both twins.

“Hey!” Stan cut in, unsure of just how he was supposed to reprimand Dipper for the outburst, but unwilling to remain silent, all the same. “That’s enough, you--”

“Whatever!” Mabel interrupted, as if her great-uncle hadn’t spoken at all, her cheeks flushing dangerously in a way Stan knew meant that everyone within the general vicinity should be wary. “Just because _you_ don’t have any friends doesn’t mean that you should ruin the good time I want to have with mine!”

Stan faltered, slightly taken aback at the ferocity behind the words.

As it turned out, Dipper wasn’t faring much better. A variety of emotions flickered over the boy’s face (ranging from brief anger, to bitter sadness and something uncomfortably close to shame, and back again), before his face seemed to darken slightly.

(Stan resisted the urge to take a small step back and out of the room entirely).

“Well just because _you_ use the fact that you do have friends as a stand in for a personality doesn’t mean that you can treat everyone else like shit!”

The words hit like a truck. Mabel’s eyes went wide and shocked, and Stan was sure that his were doing the same. Both faced Dipper silently, at a loss for words, for a long moment as the only sounds within the kitchen now were that of whatever Mabel was frying on the stovetop crackling slightly as it began to burn and fill the room with an acrid stench.

Mabel appeared to snap back to life, then, and almost seemed to be quivering slightly with the weight of emotion she was feeling.

“You know what!” she cried, turning swiftly to turn the stovetop off with a pointed _click_ and refusing to glance back over her shoulder to face her twin, now. “That’s fine! I didn’t want to go on your stupid quest, anyway. I only agreed in the first place ‘cause I felt bad that you couldn’t get anyone else to go with you.” With that, she turned furiously and exited the room, brushing past Stan without so much as a glance.

Stan could hear her beginning to sniffle slightly from where she’d disappeared into the back of the Shack, and felt his heart constrict slightly at the sound.

“Kid…” he muttered warningly, anger simmering just behind the words.

He’d seen the two going at it before, sure. But, more often than not, one would crack a joke or lose the steam of their anger before things could escalate too quickly. They stuck together, the Pines Twins, and such violent and unrelenting anger wasn’t common when they did have their disagreements.

Then again, Stan mused, it was hardly like he’d spent a lot of time with the two over the past five years. Being away a majority of the year on the Stan O’ War combined with the kids’ school responsibilities ensured that they hardly had time to meet up past the few day or two-long visits they’d coordinated over their time spent apart.

This particular summer spent at the Shack had been Stan’s own idea, him having convinced Ford to dock the old boat for just a couple of months. In favor of one last summer of “quality time” spent together.

(“ _They’re goin’ to college next year, Sixer._ ” he’d pleaded with his twin. “ _Let’s just try and have one more summer with ‘em_.”)

To his surprise (though, Stan mused, he probably shouldn’t have been), Ford had relented with little argument. And, to the delight of both, the younger twins had eagerly agreed to spending another summer in the heart of Gravity Falls.

And sure, Stan had seen the differences in his kids. Five years was a long time, and it wasn’t like they wouldn’t have changed. Mabel was more focussed, tactical and confident in a way that made Stan exceedingly proud when she truly allowed herself to shine.

(Not to mention, she was an absolute power-house. The kid had always been strong, but now she could lift Dipper, as well as a full grown Waddles, with little trouble).

Dipper was...well, he was Dipper. Stan had been unsurprised to find the same lanky, curious boy tumbling off the bus to the Shack as he had five years prior. He was driven, single-minded, and continually proved himself to be stubborn as all hell.

If Stan weren’t so frustrated by him half the time, he thought that he might see more of himself in the kid than he was technically comfortable evaluating.

And, if he were to consider it for more than just a moment past his sparking fury now, Stan might admit that frustrated snap in the kitchen hadn’t necessarily been unexpected.

As it were, there had always been a strong angry heart within Dipper, simmering just below the surface of his unassuming outward persona and waiting for the right moment to rise to the surface.

Over the past couple of years, and especially within the past couple of weeks the kids had spent in the Shack, Stan had seen the cracks in that surface widening ever so slightly-- that strong and angry interior rising to the surface with increasing frequency, and had to admit that only an idiot would have turned a blind eye to such an outburst quickly approaching.

“Mabel?” Dipper croaked, breaking the silence between them, his brow furrowing as if his own words had only just now caught up with him. “Hey, Mabel! I didn’t--” he cut himself off and began to stride forward, nearly toppling over as Stan quickly shot an arm out to grip at his elbow and halt him in his tracks.

“Whoa there, ace.” he warned, forcing his tone to remain light and conversational, despite his own anger still lingering below the surface. “Slow down. Let her cool off.”

“B-but--” Dipper’s face twisted slightly, glancing between Stan and the staircase to the attic with an increasingly desperate expression. “I--I didn’t mean it…” the words were spoken softly, almost under his breath. He allowed himself to be held back with little struggle, which was how Stan knew immediately that the remorse was genuine. “I didn’t…”

Stan exhaled a soft breath, feeling his heart twist, then soften slightly. “I know you didn’t, kid.” he sympathized, “But that doesn’t mean that there wasn’t any damage done. Trust me, I know.”

(“ _Stanford? Come back! I didn’t mean it…_ ”)

That seemed to get the kid’s attention. With a start, Dipper turned to face him fully, his lower lip pulling into a pout and quivering slightly before he tore himself away from Stan’s grip and, with an almost indeterminable whimper, turned to flee out the screen door of the kitchen and into the sunshine outside.

Stan heaved another sigh, watching the boy’s figure disappear and willing himself not to follow directly after.

_Give the kid his space._

He’d been in that position--emotion running high enough to trigger a fight-or-flight instinct. If Dipper was anything like his great-uncle (and, Stan knew without a doubt that he was), he’d need some time to regather his thoughts before he was ready to talk to anyone.

With a grunt, Stan turned and exited the kitchen, reluctantly heading up the attic stairs to track down his wayward niece and ruminating that he might be getting a bit too old for this whole “parenting” thing.

\---

The real sense of something being off started to sink in later in the day when, as 8 p.m. rolled around, Dipper still hadn’t returned to the Shack.

Heavy clouds had begun to roll in, casting a dark shadow over the golden hue of the sunset beginning to spill in through the wide kitchen window, and Stan felt his stomach drop slightly at the sight.

Mabel had gone to spend time with her friends after all, after Stan having talked her down from her frustration and insisting that she go out and enjoy herself.

“ _The kid’ll live one day without jumping headlong into some dumb mystery quest_.” he’d joked.

“ _Okay_ ,” Mabel had finally agreed, slinging her bag over her shoulder and turning to face Stan with one hand on the doorknob. “ _I’m going but...Watch out for Dipper? He gets_ …” she trailed off, seemingly unwilling to finish the sentence.

“ _Sure thing, Pumpkin_.” Stan had assured, feeling a bit out of his depth, but willing to go to whatever lengths necessary to improve his niece’s mood, all the same.

That had been nearly 6 hours prior, and Stan was more than a little unsettled by the fact that Dipper hadn’t returned back home yet.

Heh, _home_. Stan mentally berated himself for the automatic association his brain had placed upon the Shack. It wasn’t necessarily the kids’ ‘home’, after all.

(Dipper would have been back by now if he truly considered it so, anyway).

“Stanley?” Stan nearly groaned out loud as the sound of Ford rising from the depths of his basement laboratory filtered up into the kitchen to where he was seated at the table, casting anxious glances out the window in anticipation of their great-nephew’s return. “Where are the children?”

“Mabel’s out with some friends.” Stan grunted, not bothering to turn and face his brother’s entrance.

“Ah,” Ford replied, opening the fridge and reaching into it’s depths for one of the cans of beer the two of them had carefully concealed there (the twins didn’t know that they drank, and they were careful to keep it that way, though Stan suspected that the two might know more than they let on). “And Dipper?” Ford prompted, cracking his beer open and glancing tentatively around the kitchen as if someone were hiding within the shadows.

Stan felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, though he attempted valiantly to remain completely stoick where he was sat, avoiding Ford’s gaze pointedly. “Dunno,” he finally replied with an indifferent shrug. “Wandered off into the woods a couple hours ago to do his nerd thing. Haven’t seen him since.” If his voice shook a little as he answered, neither of them mentioned it.

There was a beat, and Ford took a seat across from Stan to lean both elbows on the table before replying, slowly, “Stanley...Where’s Dipper?”

Stan threw his hands up, then, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms to face the window sullenly. “I don’t know, okay?” he snapped, unable to stop his tone from coming off as a bit defensive. “He and Mabel got into a...a little tiff, earlier. Mabel went to her friend’s and I haven’t seen the kid since. Happy?”

Ford frowned, shrinking back slightly into his seat and muling the offered information over silently. “Stanley, if he’s alone…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence to get the message across. They both knew well and understood that bitter, miserable self-deprecation one went through after having gotten into it with their twin.

“You say you don’t know where he went?” Ford questioned, when Stan didn’t reply, expression charged and entirely serious.

“Nah,” Stan answered, sitting up somewhat straighter in his seat and pegging his own twin with a matching sober expression. “Haven’t seen ‘im since noon.” he hesitated, wincing slightly. “You don’t think…”

“I _think_ that we need to find Dipper as quickly as possible.” Ford interrupted, standing and scooting his chair back across the kitchen floor with a grating squeak. “For all our sakes.”

“Split up?” Stan questioned, rising from his own chair himself with a sage nod.

“Split up.” Ford agreed. “I’ll take the west side of town and the woods. You--”

“I’ll cover the rest.” Stanley agreed without hesitation, extending an arm to tap lightly at his twin’s shoulder. “Don’t forget, Sixer, I know this town better than you do.”

Ford chuckled, rubbing at his arm with a rueful expression. “We’ll see. Call me if you find him?”

“ _When_ I find him.” Stan muttered, shaking his head slightly. “Let’s hope the kid hasn’t done anything too stupid. He’s…”

“A lot like us.” Ford finished for him, his expression darkening into something much more serious. Thunder cracked outside the Shack, and rain began to steadily beat against the window frame. “We’ll see. Good luck, Stanley.”

\---

Of all the places that Stanley Pines anticipated finding his great-nephew, the corner of the local Gravity Falls Laundromat was not one of them.

He’d been searching for about two and a half hours, now, calling Dipper’s name desperately into every back-alley, dusty arcade and bowling alley after the kid’s usual haunts had been scoured from front to back. Despite the assistance of many of the locals, Dipper’s whereabouts had remained a mystery, something which had set Stan increasingly on edge the more he continued to search for his wayward great-nephew.

It was with entire desperation, therefore, that Stan had found himself searching the back corners of town, nearest to the bus stop, and poked his head into the pawn shop and barber on the street corners there before wandering wearily into the laundromat at the edge of town.

He hadn’t frequented the establishment, himself. The Shack had its own worn-down washer and dryer set that had done the job of cleaning his suits and underwear well enough for his liking.

The bell above the door jangled as he entered in from the cool and dark night air, bringing back a flood of memories as the fluorescent lights flooded his vision. Taking the trip all the way down to the laundromat with a pocketful of quarters had been something he’d only really experienced during those early days in Gravity Falls…

Stan shook the clinging rainwater from his clothing as he peered around the shop blearily, the smell of dust and powder detergent overwhelming his senses for a moment.

No one greeted him, nor did Stan really expect them to. As it was, there hardly seemed to be anyone abiding within the establishment at all, the only sounds echoing within the soft _whooshing_ of various washing machines churning their laundry through a lazy spin cycle.

Stan hesitated in the doorway, gazing warily around the room for another brief moment before making to turn and leave when a soft scuffle from his right, behind a stack of washing machines, caught his attention.

“Anyone uh--anyone there?” he called, taking another cautious step into the room and casting his gaze around the rows of machines tentatively.

There was another soft sound, a sharp intake of breath, and a deafening silence that Stan could clearly identify as someone holding their breath--as if unwilling to be discovered within their hiding place.

Stan sighed softly, and took another small step into the room, his shoulders tensing slightly in preparation for a fight before he could stop them. “Dipper?” he called, “That you, kid?”

When he received no reply, Stan steeled himself before striding forward, nearly walking past the source of the noise before he careened to a strop and swivelled to meet eyes with his nephew--wedged into a dark and dusty corner between two whirring washing machines, knees drawn to his chest, and eyes wide and red-rimmed as he eyed his Stan warily.

“Kid!” Stan breathed, lurching forward and releasing a heavy exhale that he’d, unbeknownst to himself, been holding in the entire time he’d been searching for the missing kid. “You really gave us a run for our money. What the hell are you doing here?”

Dipper watched him hesitantly for a long moment before exhaling his own shaky breath, his brows knitting into something confused and somewhat concerned. “Grunkle--Grunkle Stan?” he finally murmured, shrinking in on himself, as if afraid.

As if Stan were a complete stranger.

“Yeah, it’s me, kid.” Stan muttered, fighting off a chill and kneeling hastily into the kid’s space with another soft sigh. “Don’t worry. It’s--shit!” Stan reeled back before he could stop himself from the innate reaction, grimacing as light was cast into the dark corner that Dipper was cowering in.

The kid was absolutely covered in bruises--his thin arms littered with them, as well as a fair few scattered across his face, his right eye near-swollen shut with the largest, splayed just across his temple like a smear of blue paint.

His hair and clothing were covered in dirt and grime, rainwater still dripping into the kid’s eyes, ]held wide and alert as they flitted over Stan’s form.

What truly had Stan’s stomach churning however, was the unsettling amount of scratches and cuts that littered the Dipper’s arms. It almost seemed that, the more he looked, the more there truly were, scattered across the jittery limbs.

“Kid,” Stan breathed, just barely restraining himself from reaching forward to grip tightly at the boy’s arms. “What happened t’you?”

“It’s--” Dipper shuddered, swallowing loudly in the otherwise pressing silence of the room and shrinking further back into himself at the inquiry. “It’s nothing, Grunkle Stan. Don’t--”

“If you’re gonna tell me not to worry, kid, you’re leagues too late for that now.” Stan interrupted darkly, frowning slightly and leaning in closer to study the bruise around Dipper’s eye. “Get into a tangle with something big out there?”

Dipper released a small laugh, it seemingly bubbling out from within the depths of his chest, wild and unbidden and entirely humorless. He swallowed uncomfortably, then, furrowing his brows and glancing away. “I guess you could say that.”

Stan’s frown deepened, and he reluctantly dropped his gaze back to some of the deeper scratches marring Dipper’s arms, his stomach flipping slightly at the sight. “Really--really did a number on you, huh?” he muttered lowly, his tone broking little room for argument.

Dipper huffed slightly and glanced timidly away, resting his cheek against his arms, both crossed tightly over his knees. “I guess…” he muttered, the words muffled.

Stan heaved a weary breath, his heart sinking at the defeated note behind Dipper’s tone. “Dip,” he began.

“Am I a bad kid?” Dipper interrupted, sitting straighter suddenly and turning to peg his great-uncle with a somewhat desperate gaze.

Stan blinked, all the breath that remained in his lungs leaving him in a sudden _whoosh_ at the question. “What--”

“Am I a bad kid?” Dipper repeated, his own breaths coming out in shallow, desperate breaths now. “I’m--I yelled at Mabel. I ruined her night and--and--”

“Whoa kid, slow down.” Stan warned, his heart twisting at the sallow tint that Dipper’s cheeks had taken on as he continued to rant. “C’mon, it was just--”

“I’m a horrible person.” Dipper murmured, raising each hand to grip tightly at the dark, damp curls at his head. “I’m a--a fucking terrible person. I can’t believe-- _fuck_ , I messed up. I’m horrible, I--”

“ _Kid_ ,” Stan interrupted forcefully, “You gotta stop.”

“I--” Dipper paused briefly, before beginning to pull forcefully at his hair, each tug punctuated with a sharp exclamation. “I’m. Such. A. Fucking. _Useless--_ ”

“Dipper!” Stan cried, surging forward then to grip at the boy’s elbows and tear his hands away from his hair. “Please, _please_. Cut it out.”

Dipper exhaled, more a soft sob than anything, and finally ( _finally_ ) glanced upward to meet Stan’s eyes. “Stan?” he murmured, his voice cracking and more solemn than Stan thought he’d ever heard it. “Please…”

“It’s okay.” Stan replied immediately, allowing himself to act on pure instinct now and swooping in to scoop the small, shaking boy into his arms. “It’s alright, kid. Don’t worry. It’s fine…”

Dipper released another small, trembling sob, and buried his face into Stan’s neck. “I’m sorry…”

“Listen, kid.” Stan muttered, raising a hand to gently rub at the back of Dipper’s head as he slowly, automatically, began to rock the two of them comfortingly back and forth. “You don’t gotta be sorry. It was just--”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Dipper repeated with a soft, muted wail, continuing to tremble and burying impossibly closer.

“O-okay. Okay!” Stan cried. “It’s okay.” there was a soft beat, before Stan sobered and tugged the kid tightly against his chest. “You’re not a bad kid. You’re okay. We’re okay…”

Dipper shuddered again, but remained silent, simply crying weakly into the fabric of Stan’s collar and allowing himself to be held, for the time being.

It was a testament to just how miserable he must be feeling. Any other time, Stan thought darkly, he would have pulled away in embarrassment by now.

When Dipper had finally calmed somewhat, and the only sound between them was the gentle _swish_ of the washers on either side, Stan drew back slightly to face Dipper’s weary, red-rimmed eyes head on. “Hey,” he muttered, reaching out a hand to tentatively rub at the marred skin of the kid’s forearm, one thumb coming away sticky and wet with blood.

He swallowed tightly past the sickening sense of nostalgia and familiarity at the sensation clogging his throat, but forced himself to continue.

He didn’t want to address the issue (wished desperately that it wasn’t an issue that he’d ever have to confront at all), but felt as if he’d better say something before the moment truly ended. “Whatever it is...we’ll fix it, okay?”

Dipper froze, briefly, his own breath seemingly caught in his throat, before nodding miserably. “O-okay.” he finally agreed, hesitating before pitching forward again to rest his head wearily on Stan’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Stan repeated, rubbing slowly at the kid’s back. “Okay. It’s okay.”

\---

Later, when Stan and Dipper wandered groggily back into the dim and flickering light of the Shack’s kitchen, Mabel rose from her anxious perch at the table and hurried forward to envelope her still trembling brother in a warm and gentle embrace almost as soon as they’d stepped in through the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Stan saw more than heard the young girl murmur, tightening her hold around her brother’s shoulders and automatically beginning to stroke at his hair.

Dipper didn’t reply, but sniffled slightly and rested his head in what could only be exhaustion onto his twin’s strong shoulder.

“I’m sorry…” he finally murmured, after they’d been stood there for a long, silent moment, simply taking comfort in each other’s company. “Mabel, I’m so--”

“It’s okay.” Mabel murmured, glancing up to meet Stan’s eyes with a somewhat subdued look of her own.

(And if it didn’t kill Stan to see her that way).

“I’m not mad, Dip.” she continued, “It’s okay.”

At this, Dipper released another soft, wrecked sounding sob and allowed his sister to gather him closer with a soft, soothing murmur. “Shh...It’s okay.”

Stan decided to excuse himself from the situation, then, confident that Dipper was in the most capable hands he possibly could be, and cast another soft smile in his great-niece’s direction before disappearing back into the dark hallways of the Shack without another word.

He needed to find some dry clothes--and find Ford, let him know what had happened, and discuss what they could do to fix...this.

But, he reminded himself with a small huff, they’d been through some serious shit together before today. And Pines always prevailed. It would be okay.

They would be okay. They always were.

**Author's Note:**

> self projection, whomst?*
> 
>  
> 
> (*i'm totally on brand here) find me at my Gravity Falls blog [here](http://lttledipper.tumblr.com) and come say hi!


End file.
